The Socially Accepted Response
by KiwiBeez
Summary: Things are never simple and what we see is just the tip of the iceberg. This story picks up as Logan asks Lorelai that question at the end of 7.20. Rogan. Chapter 5: Tales from Richard.
1. Lorelai & Logan

This is my first attempt at fanfiction. Chapter 1 starts off at the end of episode 7.20 when Logan asks Lorelai for permission to marry Rory. Each chapter is written from a different POV. As per usual, I own nothing.

Many thanks to my beta, Emma, who has done wonders editing this tale.**  
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**Chapter 1 - Lorelai & Logan**

His question is still sending shockwaves through my mind. Her hand? In marriage? I continue to stare at him, trying to plan my next move. He looks slightly apprehensive, but underlying this is a quiet confidence in how I will answer him. After all, this question only has one socially acceptable answer, and my parents would be cracking open the champagne now if they knew. It is, by all accounts, a very attractive alliance between an established couple of comparable social standing. This thought is quickly followed by a shudder – surely, my upbringing is catching up with me when I consider how socially advantageous my daughter's marriage would be.

But I know that this is not right. I know Rory. Logan does too, and yet, in this he will not see clearly until he is told explicitly. Unless realities and options are clearly laid before him. Taking another close look at him I can see desperation starting to cloud his eyes. He opens his mouth to plea…

"Lorelai,"

"Stop," I cut him off, holding up my hand.

"Please, I have to tell you, to explain myself and my answer. And the only way this will work is if you stay quiet and let me say it all," I rush on. He smiles at me, a knowing smile, as if he is familiar with this tactic. He has had it from Rory, I see. Well she is my daughter. The look on his face is a curious mix of amusement and fear. He gives a slight nod, waiting for me to continue.

"Logan, you know Rory well. But understand this. I am her mother, yes, but I am also her best friend. I know things, see things, and am privy to things that you haven't been witness to yet," I begin, and he nods at my opening statement in agreement.

He, I think, understands better than most that Rory and my relationship is more than one of a mother and daughter or two best friends. I imagine living with my daughter would quickly illuminate just how freakishly close we are. He has witnessed the late night phone calls, the quick fire consultations via text message. He knows about our traditions and the Gilmore girl rulebook. Hell! He knows more of the rules than any man should.

"A while ago, Rory and I were talking about our 'ones'. You know what I mean," I state, cocking my head to see if he understands. Logan nods, slightly perplexed with where I'm going.

"Rory admitted that she thought you were 'it' for her. The one that she would someday marry. Now admittedly at the time this left me more than a little freaked out. You have always been different from her previous boyfriends. Even when you two were just casual, it was more… intense and raw than previous relationships," I give him a knowing smirk when I bring up their casual beginnings and he has the decency to blush slightly in remembrance.

"But Rory has me for a mother. I'm the perfect case study in how to run away from a good thing. You and I both know that Rory is a sponge… she's learned her 'flight' tendencies from the best. If you go all Tomkat on her now, declare your intensions from the rooftop and whisk her across the country, Rory may stay true to form and run like her dear old mother always has.

"Rory is young… she has barely lived. Baring her brief sojourn into DAR wonderland, Rory hasn't had a real job or even a regular income. You have had a year to experience what life on the outside is like. She is still trying to grasp what life will be like without regular tutorials and midterms to study for," I explain. Looking at Logan I am beginning to see comprehension of my point, yet is it marred by a look of selfishness that still fails accept what I'm saying.

"What I'm trying to say is that you need to give Rory a chance to experience grown up life before bringing her into married life. Not getting the New York Times internship has thrown her off. For the first time she hasn't achieved what she aimed for. She is so scared at the moment and so daunted by the options and possibilities in front of her that adding additional life choices and major decisions concerning the rest of their life may not work in your favor.

"Know that Rory loves you and that she sees herself marrying you. Know that I'm telling you as her best friend. She is not ready yet. Go to San Francisco. Invite her to come with you as one of her possible options. But be open to letting her live away for a while. She waited while you were in London and she has supported you while you decided what you wanted to do with your life after leaving your Dad. Now it is time for you to extend the same courtesy to her," I tell him.

Logan looks at me thoughtfully, but with a look that shows he's still waiting. Waiting for the socially acceptable response. With a voice tainted with hesitance, I give him his response.

"So as Rory's mother I am saying yes, because we both know that it is the only answer. But I'm asking you to give her time. She told me that you promised to 'factor her in' to your career plans. Well you have chosen your career and the way I see it you have three ways of factoring her in. You can leave her out and break it off completely, tell her you're going and invite her to come if she wants to stay with you, or you can invite her to join you there when she is ready and give her some 'London time'.

"The best friend is saying give Rory options. Because when the pro/con list comes out, giving Rory options will tip the balance towards San Francisco and you," I finish my speech with a nod and wait for a reply. I don't have to wait long.

"I just don't want to live without her. Being away from her is so hard," he responds with pain in his voice.

"I want her with me in San Francisco," he states, almost pleading and with an edge of force in his voice.

I feel for him. This is hard for me too. If he wins, Rory will be on the other side of the continent.

"I know Logan. I know what it's like to loose half of your heart," I reply.

He stands, nodding his head. He looks me in the eyes and whispers a thank you before walking out to his car. Now all I can do is pray that he makes the right decision.


	2. Logan & Rory

As per usual, I own nothing. Thanks for the reviews!! This chapter is from Logan's POV.

**Chapter 2 - Logan & Rory**

The box sits in my coat pocket - it's one of the only safe places now that I'm staying with Rory. Every time my fingers brush over it, I get a shiver of excitement mixed with nervousness. But, right now my coat is lying over the edge of the sofa and I can see that little box by its faint outline. It signifies my future. What I hope is our future. However, now that I've talked to Lorelai, every time I think of or see that box, I also hear her voice in my head that says yes while meaning no. I know that she is right at some level, but I also know that there is so much more going on than what Lorelai is aware of… so much she and Rory don't understand. I can't bare the thought of her not being with me, and I'm intelligent enough to know that San Francisco is fast becoming my only option.

Thankfully, Paris is out celebrating her flood of acceptance letters giving me some peace to plug in my laptop and surf the internet without receiving a torrent of abuse for "wantonly sucking up power and bandwidth that daddy isn't paying for." My inbox shows a few new emails from San Francisco, as well as from some East Coast firms I had contacted earlier in the month seeking employment. Opening them, I quickly confirm they are like the dozens of others I've received over the past few weeks – polite brush offs.

"Bastard," I hiss. I know what Mitchum has done. What's worse is that I'm starting to think that he may have cast his net of destruction wider than just me. She should have gotten the fellowship. She should have offers coming out her ears. Yet the only offer she had was from a paper well known for vocally opposing everything that is anything Huntzberger. And she turned it down. I should have seen this coming. When I walked out of his office that last time, his sarcastic dismissal – wishing me luck in finding a position elsewhere – carried a tone that suggested I could be the luckiest man on earth and still not succeed.

"Give my regards to Rory," were his parting words. Well I know what your regards are like, you asshole, and you can keep them.

I pull out my cell and make a call to an old friend back at Evil Incorporated.

"Braydon-Jones speaking," the voice answers.

"Jack, old friend! Huntzberger here," I reply.

"Logan! How is Siberia treating you? What can I do for the black sheep?" Jack exclaims, humor lacing his voice.

"Siberia, huh? I suppose that is an appropriate description to the massive black cloud my father has posted over me. That was to be expected – no one disrespects Daddy dear and gets away with it. No, what I want is information about a reporter," I state, beginning to fear that my suspicions will be confirmed.

"Oh! Who is this reporter? What do you want to know?" He responds quickly.

"Gilmore. Rory Gilmore,"

"The girlfriend, huh? Well word is that she is off limits. The Dark Lord put out some whispers on the East Coast network. It was stated rather forcefully that she was not to be employed by anyone other than Huntzberger Publishing Group," Jack replies.

"Well why aren't the other groups scrapping for her then? If he wants her then the competition should be showering her with positions. She's only had one offer," I'm beginning to rant – a habit I never had before I met her.

"And she turned it down," Jack cuts in.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"Word gets around. Especially since we're always keeping a closer eye on the Providence Journal-Bulletin. The PJB is the only paper with enough guts around here to go against the ringleader. Your father, he plays hardball, Logan… you know this," He answers earnestly.

He is right, of course. I have had many years of experience when it comes to Mitchum's cold-hearted plots. He goes directly for a person's weakest spot, just like he did with Rory and the internship.

"Look, everyone knows that she is your weakness. Hell, a couple of weeks ago there was a nice little blurb about you in the gossip pages: '_guess which former playboy heir spent the day__checking out engagement rings? Good thing the heiress has insurance covered_,'" Jack tells me.

"Shit. Well that means they all know then," I reply.

I can hear the locks on the apartment turning and a foot kick loosens the hinge. It's that time of day and I know that Rory is home.

"Look, she's home. Thanks for the info man, I appreciate it," I tell him.

"No problem, Huntz. Don't let him get to you. Or her," Jack answers before hanging up.

She walks through the door and she's on the phone talking a mile a minute. The pace of the conversation and the pitch of her voice indicate that Lorelai is on the other end of the phone. I've been hoping that Lorelai hasn't given away any hints about what her and I talked about, but given that she and Rory share everything I'm beginning to wonder. I look at Rory and I warm up. I feel a smile on my face for the first time in what seems like hours. However, I'm also battling this huge mass of guilt. Being with me is costing her dearly. But I'm also feeling the guilt because deep down there is a sense of happiness that this has happened. I think that I might just get what I wanted all along.

I turn back to my laptop and open up a series of rejection emails. It sounds like Rory is finishing up her conversation with her mom, and when I stand and turn at her she has a strange look on her face. Walking up to her I give her a friendly peck as she closes her phone.

"What's up, Ace?" I ask.

"What? Oh nothing really. It's just that Mom has been acting strangely for the last couple of days. She has a secret and she won't tell me," Rory answers tiredly.

"Ahh. I dare not question the inner workings of Lorelai's mind. She'll tell you eventually, Ace. Don't despair," I encourage her, wrapping her in my arms. However, when I look at her I can't keep my happy mask on any longer. I lead her over to my laptop and sit her down in front of it.

"Logan, what's the matter?" She questions me.

"Read them," I answer, pointing to the windows on the desktop.

She sits down and silently begins reading the emails I have selected. Her brow begins to furrow as she finishes one and moves to the next. I know that she is noting the names of the companies, probably recalling where they are, what they do, and who owns them. As she finishes the last one I have opened there is a strange look of fear and pity in her eyes.

"There are dozens more of them," I add.

"They're all East Coast," she states.

"Yes."

"And they look remarkably like the ones I'm getting," she whispers, her pitch dropping as realization begins to dawn.

"I just got off the phone with a friend at Mitchum's headquarters. He asked me how Siberia was," I reply.

She looks at me with a quizzical expression.

"I've been blacklisted, Rory. He's made it impossible for me to get work here. You of all people know what he's capable of, and he doesn't do things by halves," I state sadly.

"Oh, Logan," she sighs. I look into her eyes and there are tears welling up. I can't stand it any longer. I pull her into my arms on the couch so we can discuss options.

And I reach for my coat pocket.


	3. Rory & Logan

A/N

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the past two chapters! I'm sorry this one took so long to publish – I had the whole chapter hand written and then it got lost among a bunch of papers. Gah! Grad school is taking over my life.

There is nothing better than lots of feedback to encourage me to write faster. I have the whole fic planned out now so I just need the fires lit under me to write it quickly!

The opening quote is from episode 7.15

I suppose I should mention that I own nothing off the Gilmore Girls variety.

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**Chapter 3 – Rory & Logan**

"_And of course we're going to take care of you__, too… We have newspapers all around the world. You can take your pick."_

It's funny how now as I read the path of destruction Logan has laid out before me I remember his words to me that day. Mitchum telling me he would give me my pick of newspaper positions and thanking me for 'shaping' Logan. At the time, his words left me stunned and confused. Why such a change of heart? I was Huntzbergered – or so Logan told me. So now Mitchum's words repeat over and over in my mind, mocking me for not seeing this coming. I've been well and truly Huntzbergered. History is repeating itself.

After all, what has come from that man but trouble? The last time Mitchum offered me the world he turned around an instant later to crush me like some worker ant unworthy of his attention. Definitely unworthy of his last name. What type of man does this to another person, let alone his own son? I'm seething with rage inside but all it seems to translate to is a pathetic sob and a few tears on my cheeks. There is no physical sign strong enough to reflect how much this man is crushing us both.

"Oh, Logan," I sigh, burying my head into his neck.

He pulls me closer, offering me as much comfort as he is capable of sparing at the moment. I know that he is probably unsurprised by his Father's moves against him. What about San Francisco? Does Mitchum's influence stretch that far?

Moments pass and I think both of us are absorbed in our own assessments of personal damage – counting the hits. Is it reparable? Slowly I feel him pulling away from me, reaching for his coat. He's running. We are both so good at that.

"Logan. There has to be a way to fix this," I plead, grasping his hand and threading our fingers together and trying to convey my need for him to stay close. The look on his face is one of quiet determination laced with desperation.

"Rory, we can't run this time. But I'm not sure what to do… he has both of us where he want us," he replies with a weak smile, seeking to assure me that he isn't going to bolt.

Everything about his facial expression tells me he is genuine. Again, I am reminded why I love this man. Yet, at the same time, the selfish part of me tells me to cut and run now. It screams that the only way to fix this is to leave him. I don't know if I can. I don't know if I want to.

San Francisco. What happened with San Francisco? Has he found a way out? Is he going there?

"Logan. What about San Francisco? You came back sounding so positive," I ask. His left hand is playing with my side, lightly caressing the curve of my waist while his right hand reaches up to my face. He turns me so I'm facing him, so close I can feel his breath. He has a look on his face that tells me that he is feeling guilty.

"I got it."

"Really? Logan! That's fantastic!" I exclaim, though my enthusiasm sounds slightly forced. At least he will be able to do what he wants.

"That's on the other side of the country, Ace," Logan replies solemnly.

"I know. I guess we'll be doing the long distance thing again?" I ask.

"I don't want to. Do long distance, that is. And unless Mitchum suddenly comes around… and that is even less likely after I take the San Francisco job… then I think you'll find the east coast job market a little frosty," he explains somberly.

"Your father doesn't own everything, Logan. Some publications must have enough guts to go against him."

"My contact knew about the Providence Journal-Bulletin. He seemed to think that was the only publication willing to risk Dad," Logan replied.

"Why is he doing this to me?"

I'm crying now, and Logan turns me again, wiping tears off my cheeks. He runs his hands through my hair and looks straight into my eyes.

"Before I left Huntzberger Publishing Group I was thinking about what you said to me… about breaking me. I realized that although sometimes I do spook, I want to keep coming back to you. I'm different from how I was when we first met, Rory, and I'm happy that's the case," Logan states anxiously. I'm a little puzzled about how our conversation has changed direction, but the tone of his voice is enough for me to just listen and see where he's going.

"I was thinking about your graduation and your plans. You have so much ahead of you, and the thing is, I can't wait to see it happen. I can't wait to celebrate your first job and your first byline. Your first paycheck.

"I can't wait until your first crappy day at work so we can order too much Chinese food and watch _The Office_ for the hundredth time. And for us to be able to come home to each other every night.

"When I figured this out I bought something for you. I was waiting for the perfect moment. I was waiting to talk to Lorelai. Then the disaster with the company happened, and Dad was breathing down my neck and we were both so stressed. I kept putting this off.

"But what I've realized… what the point is… is that there is never going to be the perfect moment, but there will be our moment," Logan whispered earnestly, looking deeply into my eyes.

His hands are on mine again and I can feel him pressing something into my grasp. Looking down, there is no ambiguity in what he has given me. I pry open that deep blue velvet box, and even though I know what to expect inside I still can't help but gasp. It is not too big or flashy, but perfect for me. I remember what Grandma said years ago: '_make sure your__husband has good taste in jewelry_'. Well Logan has that covered, at least.

Before I can say anything he brings a hand up to cup my cheek, running his thumb over the edge of my eyelid.

"Marry me, Rory. Come with me to San Francisco and lets start again away from my crappy family and our past. Get a job at the Chronicle or freelance for Hugo. Study at Berkley or Stanford. Hell – do nothing if you want. But come with me," he pleads.

"Logan."

"Please? Rory there is nothing here for me anymore. And barely anything for you. All of my firsts are going to happen outside New England and away from Mitchum's influence," he continues earnestly.

"This is so much in such a short time, Logan. There is so much to absorb. Half of my mind is still stuck thinking about what he's done to us. We need to think about this, to plan," I tell him.

"Just take a chance, Ace. Jump with me," he asks. He is starting to worry so he bite his bottom lip like he does when he's nervous and frustrated.

"You have had weeks to think about this, Logan! Weeks! Give me a chance to absorb this and to think about my options," I reply. The volume and pitch of my voice has increased slightly, and if Logan can read the signs he would notice I'm just a little panicked.

"We don't have that much time, Rory. I accepted the job, I need to be out there by next month," Logan states. He's grasping my right hand tightly, like he's trying to keep me with him.

"I just… I just can't think about this all now. I don't know what to say. Just let me think. I need to be alone," I whisper, slowly extricating myself from him.

"Rory. Please."

His voice is so desperate and his face so pained. But I can't be around him now. I need to leave. To work this through myself.

"You know me, Logan. I'm not running away for good. I just need some time alone to think about this. You can't expect me to be able to answer you straight away. Have I ever made decisions quickly?" I explain.

"I was kind of hoping that you would have thought about this before," Logan replied.

"I have, kind of. In a more abstract form I suppose. But this is real. This is it. Please allow me to give this the serious thought the topic deserves," I ask.

He nods in reply and stands slowly to move close to me again.

"Alright. I'm going to leave then, and visit Honor for a while. Call my cell if you need me," he whispers, moving towards the door.

"Logan," I say. He turns around again slowly, as if he is awaiting his sentence.

"I love you. I want to be with you. Let this sink in, ok? It will work out for us," I state strongly, hoping that he believes me.

With a small smile, he nods again opens the door. As he moves through the threshold my eyes return to that little blue box in my hands.

"Ooof. Watch where you're going, blondie,"

Poor Logan, he's had a close encounter with Paris in the doorway. I lift my gaze just in time to see Paris storming through the doorway, her head turning forward again after addressing Logan.

"What did you do to him, Gilmore?"

I just stare at her. I'm not sure what to say. Paris looks me up and down with a calculating look. Although the reporter in her is desperately trying to figure out what's going on, something in my face must trigger a small kernel of empathy because her face softens ever so slightly.

"Or, what did he do to you?"

I don't answer, but open up my hand that holds the box. Her eyes widen and I know I've shocked her.

"Oh. Damn," she states bluntly.

Yeah. You've got that right.


	4. Paris Weighs In

So here is it. Sorry for the long wait. I struggled to get Paris' voice. I don't know if I fully succeeded. Thanks for all the reviews - I love to hear how people are finding it. So review! Positive, negative, neutral. I just want to know what you think. Oh, as per usual, I own nothing.

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**Chapter 4 – Paris Weighs In**

Her opening palm drew my attention to what is sitting I her hand. Suddenly the shell-shocked looks on both of their faces make sense.

"Damn."

I owe Doyle $50. I was sure he would wait until after graduation.

They are very conspicuous, those little velvet boxes. I'm pretty sure he kept it in his jacket pocket. I'm also sure he didn't notice how often his hand drifted into that pocket, only to leave – empty – after a few seconds. I've spied this particular little velvet box a couple of times in the last month.

The first time was when I came home early from a chem lab that was cancelled after some dumbass combined the wrong reagents. Logan was sitting quietly on the couch slowly turning the box in his fingers. Beyond it being one of the few times I've ever seen that adrenaline junky sit still, what surprised me the most was the look on his face. Here was a man who took life as it came. Even huge life altering decisions didn't seem to cause many pensive moments for him. But at that moment, he truly did look unsure of himself. He seemed to lack that cocky confidence that usually seeped from his pores, and without it he seemed less Logan-like, less complete. When he looked up and saw me, he quickly pushed the little box deep into his pocket and looked away. And I… contrary to my very nature… decided to leave him alone and not ask.

The second time, I called him on it. "Making the big play, eh Huntzberger?" He replied with his typical snarky "Shut it, Paris," and a warning to keep the little box a secret from our intrepid reporter. But the conversation was combined with a more confident look. More Logan-like. Whatever internal conflict he had been facing, it seemed he had gotten over it.

I'm pulled out of the memory by the sight of Rory slumping into the sofa.

"So you said no?" I ask her quietly.

"No. I couldn't… I didn't… I don't know what to do," she murmured quietly.

I expected for Rory to be a stunned by this development. Her romantic awareness leaves a little to be desired. But this seems a bit too extreme for a simple marriage proposal. Those two are attached at the hip. Surely she saw this coming. I thought that she even wanted it for them.

"He wants us to move to California. He has a job out there," Rory mutters as she stands again, and begins pacing between the sofa and our little kitchenette.

"California?" I ask, but the question goes unanswered as she continues to pace. I didn't see that one coming, although it is – in hindsight – a necessary move. Those WASPs don't take well to family members rebelling. Logan's dad and grandfather are probably making his life a living hell.

"I suppose I could apply for writing positions out there. I would have to have better luck than I am having here. Stupid Mitchum and his arrogant assumptions. I should have known nothing good could come from that comment," Rory continues, as she seems to have temporarily forgotten my presence.

My curiosity gets the better of me. I wonder what machinations the Huntzbergers have put into action against Logan, and how they have affected Rory enough for her to be this upset and off balance.

"Mitchum? What has he done?" I ask, calling her attention back to my presence. Her eyes widen as she remembers where she is and whom she is talking to about this latest development.

"When we met with Mitchum for Logan's birthday, he said that Huntzberger Publishing would look after me, and offered me a position anywhere I wanted. I didn't know what to say to him, other than to call him on his early comments about me '_not having it'_. I didn't tell Logan about the job offer, and after a while I sort of forgot about it. Mitchum didn't mention it again, and I was so focused on getting the Reston Fellowship it slipped my mind," Rory explains.

The deer-caught-in-headlights look is still there, but now it is mixed with a look of disappointment. I think I can see where this is going. It is, after all, highly unusual for the Editor of the _Daily News_ to have such a hard time finding a position post-graduation.

"And…," I prompt her.

"Logan told me that his father had informed most of the major newspapers on the eastern seaboard that I was taken by Huntzberger Publishing. No one would offer me a position for fear of going against the great Mitchum Huntzberger. Then to add insult to injury, because Logan has left the company, he doesn't want me anyway."

"Oh Rory, be realistic!" I scold. Part of me can't believe she was so blind to the long term consequences of her and Logan's relationship, or so gullible as to underestimate that man again.

"What do you mean?" she asks with a baffled look on her face.

"You have been with Logan for over two years and lived with him for a good part of it. You have worked at a Huntzberger newspaper. Mitchum has mentioned you publicly. You spent Christmas together in London, been seen at events in New York and Hartford. Everyone knows that he adores you beyond what many thought he was capable.

"All that Logan's father did was confirm what everyone was already thinking. To Rupert Murdoch, or to the editors of the Washington Post or any other media outlet not controlled by Mitchum, you're the next Huntzberger wife, and by extension, a member of the competition.

"Just as Logan would never be offered a position at the Times, the minute you became his partner, you started closing doors," I reply. Honestly, I don't know why I have to point this out. It seems perfectly obvious to me.

"I didn't choose to fall in love with him! Now you're telling me that I sealed my fate by falling for a man whose family interests intersected with my ambitions," she answers, her voice taking on that frantic high pitched panic tone.

I open my mouth to respond, but for once, she beats me –

"Do you think when we started this I ever thought it would end up here? With Logan? The man who couldn't commit to anything, who stands for practically everything my mother despises. I thought we would have some fun. I thought I could try something new and different. But I fell for him, and I loved him. Love him! I still love him!" she continues, and nearly shrieks her last proclamation of love.

"Who are you trying to convince here?" I ask, playing devils advocate. I know she loves him. It is one of those sickening sureties, second only to Britney Spears being the generation Y Michael Jackson, dangling baby and all.

"No one. No one. I just… I wasn't expecting this. I thought I had longer. He is perfect for me, and I can't stand being away from him. London sucked so much, Paris. We had just sorted our relationship when he was shipped off. It just feels like even though we have been together for nearly three years, for a significant part of it we weren't really _together_.

"I don't want to rush this, and it feels rushed. I'm twenty-two. I haven't even graduated from college yet. I have no job prospects, thanks to his father. Shouldn't I be older before I think seriously about marriage?" Rory asks.

And there it is. The obsessive-compulsive planner rears her ugly head. There are so many plans in place for that girl, both self and other made. That's one advantage to having absentee, fugitive parents… they aren't around to 'help' plan your future.

"You two always joke that you came earlier than Logan expected you. That he didn't want to settle down with one girl until he had to, and that would have definitely been later than college. Have you ever considered that he came earlier than you planned, too?" I ask her.

Rory looks puzzled by this suggestion, and I seize the opportunity to continue. Time to nail the message home. With a hammer. This girl needs more than the average amount of force to figure love, things out.

"Logan may have started out love-dense and reluctant to accept your early arrival, but he soon got over it. The question is, what will you do now that your idealized timeline has been usurped? Because realistically, my comments to you a couple of weeks ago still stand. Not many relationships survive a declined marriage proposal. Either you finish this and leave it as a college romance, or you move forward.

"So take some time to think about this. Do you and Logan exist only as a college romance, or is there something there you want long term and outside in the real world? Forget about when you thought marriage should happen in an ideal situation, or when anyone else thinks you should get married," I advise her.

She nods her head slowly, picking up her bookbag, and grabbing her car keys from within. I would bet my trust fund that she is going to Stars Hollow. For Rory, many times 'thinking' is synonymous with 'talking to mom.'

"Promise me this," I ask.

"What?"

"Don't just talk to Lorelai about this."

"She's my best friend, Paris. Who the hell else am I meant to talk to about it? And what do you have against her?" she demands.

"If you want financial advice, do you ask a bankrupt person? The guys from Enron? Did your grandfather go to a butcher for his cardiac care? Lorelai's love life reads like a train wreck. Why would you seek advice on how to have a successful relationship from her?"

Sometimes, there are benefits to having no tact. Especially when you suddenly find yourself debating on the side of the playboy heir. I surely never thought it would come to this.

The look on her face is a mix of shock and indignation. But she needed to hear it. She needed a reality check. That small nod appears again, and I know she has taken my message in. Even if she didn't want to acknowledge the truth of it.

As she walks to the door, she turns to me again.

"If he calls, can you tell him I've gone to Stars Hollow for the night?"

I sigh and gesture my affirmation.

"And, would you make sure he's ok? I know he's not your favorite person, but for me?" she quietly asks.

Again, I agree.

Honestly, the things I do for my friends.


	5. Richard & Rory

So this is the long linchpin of the fic. We are officially half way. This chapter is the physical middle of the fic, and like a lot of middles, it is full of important stuff, but not necessarily highly exciting, action packed, drama stuff. Bear with me! Please! Anyway, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed in the past, and _beg_ people to review this chapter. Tell me honestly what you think, because I'm a little unsure about this one. I hope you all like it.

Thanks to KJ - the blister. As per usual, I own nothing.

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**Chapter 5 – Richard and Rory**

It is typical, really. I was out of the loop for a few months and the whole business goes to the dogs. I suppose my attitude whilst recuperating at home hasn't exactly been exemplary, and the additional time away from our interests because of that has probably caused the majority of this mess I now have to disentangle. One thing for sure, though, that idiot accountant is going.

Right after I have a drink.

My journey to the bookcase is interrupted by the timid knock of the latest maid, Glenda, I think. The good witch of the north. Let's see if that makes her any more resilient to Emily.

"Come in."

"Mr. Gilmore, your granddaughter is here to see you," she announces.

What is Rory doing here? Has something happened to her? To Lorelai? The last time Rory came to visit without warning she had just stolen a yacht. One can't help but wonder what mishap has prompted this visit.

"Send her in, Glenda," I instruct her.

A moment later Rory enters the study. She truly is the light of the family, full of hope and promise. Yet at the moment she looks lost and confused, a description that hasn't suited her since she returned to Yale in her junior year. I stand to welcome her into the study, smiling gently in an attempt to ease her.

"Rory? What a surprise! What can I do for you today?"

"Hi Grandpa. I just… I needed to get away from Yale, you know? It is getting so near graduation and it was just making me anxious," she answers, although even a simpleton could deduce that it is not the complete truth. The way this girl is standing doesn't look like end of college anxiety to me.

I decide to play along with her excuse for the time being.

"Well! I know just the cure for graduation anxiety! Can I interest you in a drink?" I ask her with a secretive smile.

"Grandpa! I thought Grandma had forbidden you to drink?" she scolds me.

"Oh, what Emily doesn't know won't hurt her," I say as I wander over to the bookcase for the second time. "You will have to settle for scotch, it's the only bottle Emily didn't find when she last did a sweep of the office."

"That suits me fine, Grandpa," she replies, smirking when she spies the set of books that hide my sacred bottle – The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. No one in their right mind would voluntarily pick up those books unless they are bored to the point of voluntary lobotomy. Or deeply missing their wife.

I pour generous measures of scotch into the two glasses and hand one to her. Her response has cleared one thing though… something is definitely wrong, and it is significantly more than what she was letting on with her previous answer.

There is only the slightest wince as she takes a sip.

I recline back into my chair and stay silent, both in appreciation of the scotch, and to give the girl a chance to settle herself and address whatever issue has bought her to me.

"When you took Jason Stiles on as a partner in your firm, were you concerned that his father was the opposition? I mean, did it sway your decision?" Rory asks after a few more sips of scotch.

"Well, yes, originally I was concerned that I was being propositioned by the man who could ultimately end up heading the competition. But when we discussed it further I realized he wasn't interested in simply taking over his father's firm… he wanted to create something for himself. An admirable goal, even though it didn't work out," I answer.

Still, I don't consider my past dealings with Jason Stiles to be the most pleasant conversation to have with my granddaughter. It is nice to keep the illusion that one is a good and easygoing man, and conversing with grandchildren is an excellent way to maintain that illusion. Unless they ask questions such as this one, and as a consequence the gentle grandfather gives way to the competitive businessman.

Rory looks mollified by my answer, but it is quickly followed by the cloud of concern again. She takes a deep breath, and I can see her trying to compose her next statement so that her point is put across but she doesn't give away too much.

"Forget for the moment that this isn't the case… but what if, hypothetically speaking, Jason had a wife, and it was her that approached you wanting to work with you, while Jason stayed at his father's firm?" Rory asked with a voice full of apprehension and her body radiating tension.

I thought for a moment. Well, it would never happen really. There would be too many risks. Two many blurry ethical boundaries.

"Rory, you have to understand that whenever you employ someone, they come with skills that they contribute, but they also come with risks. It would be a rare businessman who would be willing to risk the security of his company by employing the wife of a man who leads or one day will lead the opposition. Even if I was to do as you suggest, I would wager that both the wife and I would spend a great portion of time looking over our backs to make sure the other wasn't breaching trust. Nobody has a flawless character, and given the right incentive, almost nothing is sacred," I answer with certainty.

My answer isn't the one she was looking for, a fact that is easily deducible by the way she slumps forward in dejection.

"Rory? Why are you asking this?" I question, searching her eyes for answers as to this bizarre line of questioning.

"It's Logan. Well, it's more Mitchum, really." Rory answers, looking up at me. There are tears welling in her eyes, and the parallels are beginning to become clear to me.

"What has happened? What has Mitchum done now?" I ask. I swear, if it was within my power to bring that man down, I would do it.

"Over the past six months, Mitchum has made it known to the media outlets of the eastern seaboard that I am to join the Huntzberger Publishing Group. So that, combined with the issues you have just confirmed has equated with no job offers. Also, since Logan has now quit, Mitchum no longer feels a need to offer me a position either. He has, as Logan put it this afternoon, blacklisted us both," she states, her voice trembling by the end.

Well, how do I respond to this? In hindsight, I should have thought about this exact situation becoming a possibility. Both, Emily and I, were so happy when she began seeing Logan. He was and still is a far superior match for her than the boys whom she had previously been involved. Yet, in all of this, we neglected to consider how this would affect Rory's career aspirations. Mitchum Huntzberger is an excellent connection, but I don't think either Logan or his sister would argue that he is a good family member.

"Has Logan had any success at all, finding employment?" I ask.

"Yes. He has been offered a position, and has accepted it, from what he told me this afternoon," she replies, without the joy I would have thought should accompany such a statement.

"Yet, you are not happy about this?" I ask.

"It is in San Francisco," she replies.

"Ah. And do you intend to follow him out there?"

That's so far away. The distance would kill her and Lorelai. As it would Emily and myself. I can't even conceive of what it would be like to not have Rory around. We had all thought she would be off to New York… it always seemed like the next logical step for what she wanted to achieve. Further away, yes, but still closer than San Francisco. There would be no commute for the occasional Friday night dinner from there.

"I don't know," she whispers.

"He proposed. This afternoon."

Good Lord, no wonder the need for a stiff drink.

I look down at her ring finger, but it is still bare.

"And how did you answer?" I ask softly.

"I didn't," she replies.

I raise my eyes. I don't imagine Logan took the lack of response well. He has never been known for his patience.

"How did Logan take that?"

"I asked him to give me some time to think about it. He told me about what his dad has done and his job in San Francisco today as well, so I had a lot to take in," she replies, justifying her response.

I don't say anything. I think the gravity of the situation deserves some silence.

"He went to stay with Honor for tonight at least. I think he needed to get away almost as much as I did," Rory states, a small chuckle following her last statement.

It is now that I notice that she is fiddling with something – a small blue ring box that undoubtedly holds the source of at least some of her trauma.

"Is that the ring?" I ask.

"His proposal was perfect, Grandpa. He bought up so many arguments for marrying and moving to San Francisco," she replies after nodding her head in affirmation.

I nod. I would have expected nothing less than an eloquent proposal from that boy. He may deny it until he is blue in the face, but the Huntzberger flair for writing is definitely in him as well.

"I remember when we still lived at the Independence Inn, Mom and I would lay on the bed and imagine what I would do when I grew up. I would graduate from high school and go to Harvard. After Harvard I would move to New York and work as a journalist, working my way up to being a foreign correspondent. I had a goal. I had a purpose.

"Mom and I always laughed at those girls who went to college to get their MRS. I'm not some snotty debutante who went to college solely to catch a suitable man," she explains.

"No one who knows you would think that, Rory." I assure her.

"Considering the number of ladies at the DAR who congratulated me on simply getting him to commit to a relationship, I can't bare to think what they will say if we get married. I'm afraid that if I marry Logan I'll never get the chance to make my own name and be known for achievements that actually matter," she states.

The reality is that most people in our circle are expecting them to marry. It is, to them, as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning. Even my friends have made passing comments about the match. After all, they have been living together for some time, something that Emily and I have put up with rather than approved of.

It seems that Emily predicted the timing perfectly when we discussed this at Rory's 21st. My comments in response to her suggestion haunt me again: '_She has more to do! More to be!_'

My plans and hopes for Rory didn't include marriage this young. Neither did Lorelai's.

"When it came down to it, Mom dealt with Harvard changing to Yale well enough. But this? Somehow I can't help feeling that she is going to be disappointed. And I know that you had other expectations for me." she explains in a forlorn voice.

I want to deny it. I start to form the words, but am halted by the look on her face. She looks like a young girl who is afraid of upsetting her father. She looks how Lorelai used to, before we drove her to rebellion. Before our expectations for her future came to such heavy conflict with her own need for freedom.

Then it hits me. Rory is haunted by plans. Mine, Emily's, her mother's and her own.

And I remember how exhausting that feels and how completely unsustainable it is.

"Yes, I have indulged in planning out possibilities for your future, just as you and your mother have done in the past. Yes, there are things that I would like to see you achieve. But Rory, at the end of the day, it is you who have to live with the choices you make. So make those choices based on your feelings, not how you think someone else might feel," I answer her.

As she looks at me, keeping silent as she absorbs what I've said, I feel the need to indulge her in a story.

"I was engaged when I met your grandmother," I tell her. She looks up at me, perplexed.

"I know, Pennilyn Lott. Mom told me," she responds.

"She was exactly what my family wanted for me. She was graduating from Wellesley, and was from a well connected, wealthy family. Her father would have helped me establish my own insurance company rather joining the Stiles firm. Our courtship went smoothly, and I proposed to her because I loved her. Because I was meant to love her. The wedding date was set. A suitable house had been bought and the honeymoon tour arranged – a great deal of our life as husband and wife was planned very effectively by our parents.

"Then I met Emily, and she changed my world. Suddenly my life was ambushed by this bright spark that refused to be ignored or put in a box. She was an intelligent, witty, beautiful woman who spoke her mind. Emily challenged me to ask what I wanted for my life, and whom I was trying to make happy.

"I could have continued with Pennilyn. I could have done what everyone expected of me, and we would have been happy enough. But 'happy enough' just isn't good enough. Ultimately, I was the one who would have had to live a life with Pennilyn, forever wondering if I had settled, and if there could have been something better out there for both of us. Not breaking it off would have been cowardly, because if it hadn't worked out, I could have blamed it on the plans and expectations of others that I just followed through with in order to not disappoint them.

"My mother was livid, and she never really accepted Emily. But looking back now, on the life we have lived together… I don't regret it for a minute. With maturity comes the right and the responsibility to make your own choices, and be accountable for them. I chose what I thought was best. I chose Emily because I liked the plans we made for our future more than the ones others had made for me," I state, ending my tale emphatically.

Again I sit, watching and waiting as Rory digests what I have said. She still seems somewhat overwhelmed by what has been by all indications a mammoth day for her. After a long silence, I lean forward and grasp her hand in mine.

"This family hasn't always been good at accepting the right of individual members to choose their own destiny. But I'm telling you today, Rory, don't let the fear of others' reactions keep you from pursuing what really matters to you," I whisper to her, holding her blue eyes in my gaze.

Those eyes crinkle a little as she gives me a small smile and a nod, before moving to stand.

"Grandpa, it's getting late. I better go… I haven't even told Mom yet," Rory states, placing her empty glass on the cart.

That she has come to me before he mother further confounds me, but now isn't the time to delve into that. Although still overwhelmed, she at least looks calmer now than she did when she entered my office. And if that is all I can give her – a little calmness and clarity – then I'm happy to do that.

I stand to join her, setting my glass down beside hers and gesture for her to move through the door I am opening. When we reach her car, and pull her into a final embrace before she leaves me.

"Thank you, Grandpa," she murmurs into my chest.

"Rory? Why did you come here? I would have thought you would want to talk to your mother straight away. Why are you asking me for advice first?" I ask the question that has been at the edge of my consciousness throughout this encounter.

Rory pulls away, looking slightly embarrassed by this question, if not a little guilty.

"You didn't go to a butcher," she mutters in response.

I decide that this might be the perfect time to employ the patented 'it's obviously a Lorelai thing' nod, and hope that it passes for a look of vague understanding. With one last hug I let her get into the car and watch her pull out of the drive.

So many things are up in the air. So many plans are at stake. Yet regardless of the outcome, I am now resolved to let her be. She will triumph in the end… she always does.

Before I turn to move back into the house, I whisper a message to her that I hope she feels even though she can't hear.

"I am so proud of you, little girl."


End file.
